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THIS IS NOT THE POST YOU ARE LOOKING FOR
The ten-year-old boy who walks into the bar has been here before; his blond hair is mussed from crawling under a tight space, and his blue dress shirt (pants merely khaki dress trousers, today) is a bit dusty.
He blinks at the Bar, irritated expression disappearing into mildly pleased curiousity. This is a way better place to hide from his father than the attic.
He blinks at the Bar, irritated expression disappearing into mildly pleased curiousity. This is a way better place to hide from his father than the attic.
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Ah. This again.
The man at a nearby table has another sip of coffee, in silence.
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One acquires a talent for remembering names early, and for a long time, when exposed to parties as often as Quatre has been. It helps than Trowa shares his name with the heir to L3.
(He doesn't remember much else, other than living on Earth, and a circus. Maybe something about elephants?)
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Trowa doesn't mind -- better him than someone who might be dangerous to an as-yet-civilian child, or say more about the future than they should -- but of course Quatre approaches.
"Marhaban bik," he says, and nods slightly.
"Quatre?"
He says it as if there's any question; as if he's mostly sure he's remembering something.
(Trowa is, when he cares to be, an excellent liar.)
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Quatre tends to trust the soul of the universe's advice completely.
He nods. "How are you?"
He expects, if Trowa would prefer French and/or Arabic, he will ask to switch.
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"Fine," he says. He likes that answer because it's always true!
"And you? It's been a while."
You're looking taller. And
old enough to reach all a Leo's controlsolder.no subject
"The same," he says, lightly. He gives Trowa a questioning glance, then takes the seat opposite when he realizes Trowa doesn't mind. "It's been two years, I think? Is -- your troop okay?"
Earth hasn't ever really been at peace, but Quatre is far more aware of the wars than he was last time they met.
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(Unlike the troops Trowa was actually with, in the time that's present tense for this Quatre.)
"They're all fine," he says. "We're on break for a couple of weeks right now."
Quatre's lying. Trowa notes it, but doesn't react; inside, he's hypothesizing.
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The fact that the United Earth Sphere Alliance are hurting it burns strangely in Quatre's heart; in one way, it is less painful than the control of the colonies -- L4 is his home, and deserves its freedom and safety. But the people of Earth are the Alliance's responsibility; to hurt ones own civilians strikes him as doubly wrong.
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He nods, though.
"Wars hurt everybody," he agrees. "Whether they're fighting or not."
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Central L4 is very safe.
"It must be nice to have a break," he says, dutifully reverting to neutral small talk.
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"Yes," he says, "but you're not wrong."
Inexperienced people can (occasionally, if they're sensible) be right about things, after all. And experienced people can (sadly commonly) be dead wrong.
Not that Trowa's judgey or anything.
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Trowa nods.
"Yes," he says. "The root is complicated, and a lot of people have very strong feelings. And habit. You'd have to somehow convince all the people of the world to look for a better way."
He thinks about saying something about pacifism and war; he doesn't. He has too much knowledge of Quatre's past and future for that to be an innocent comment, and he doesn't know what's too much to say.
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Words seem like an inadequate defense against weapons. But --
Weapons seem like an inadequate defense of peace.
He nods, jerkily, instead.
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He can't with ten-year-old Quatre, before the Gundam project, before Operation Meteor, before so many things. He's curious to -- it would be fascinating to hear the younger opinions that will develop into the thoughts of the Quatre Trowa knew in the war -- but he can't hold up his end of this conversation.
"It's complicated," he agrees.
That much is safe, and obvious.
A subject change would be too abrupt, but he can start the shift away to easier topics. "Do Earth's wars get talked about a lot on L4?"
He knows some of the answer, of course, but not firsthand, not in AC 190. And he's curious about Quatre's perspective on it.
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The concept of independent radio stations on unaffilliated spacecraft is something that makes his voice hush a bit with awe. It is so cool. Maybe he will be a radio station person someday. He's not allowed to listen according to his dad-- too young to understand bias, or something, though Bernie usually lets him listen with her.
His face goes serious, suddenly, and a bit embarrassed. "Some of them might overdo it, though. The ones -- well, some people like to pretend that people on Earth aren't --" he looks for the right word in English, "civilized?" he adds, uncertain of both his word choice and the good manners of telling Trowa that.
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However: in a few years, Quatre will learn that Trowa is nearly impossible to offend with bad manners! So he just nods in matter-of-fact comprehension.
"Sometimes Earth people think that about the colonies too."
"It's stupid. But sometimes people find it easier to be ill-informed."
Trowa has Standards.
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Then his expression clears a bit, as he realizes something. "Maybe they think-- knowing about it would hurt them."
He still doesn't understand ignoring it, but he understands the desire to not have your heart hurt.
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Says Trowa, the non-judgmental and unbiased.
"Some of them probably do," he agrees.
It's a stupid reason, but people have a wide variety of stupid reasons for the things they do!
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He hesitates slightly then asks, neutral: "Would you consider yourself well-informed?"
The circus travels a lot, he knows. And he wants to learn.
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(Also considers the likelihood of being asked again to explain his thoughts on How To Stop War by Quatre Raberba Winner, Aged Probably Ten-ish.)
"About some things," he answers, which is truthful anyway.
"Not everything."
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Then things click, and his eyes widen very slightly -- the travelling, the knowledge that exceeds what he's willing to share. A spy.
For and on who isn't clear, but -- as the universe assures him, deep in his bones, that Trowa is trustworthy (but he doubts Trowa has any way of knowing Quatre is trustworthy -- and yes, Quatre believes himself capable of knowing what to do with state secrets at age 10) it's probably best to just leave that line of questioning alone.
He smiles instead, sincerely interested but perhaps a shade too late. "What sort of things?"
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However, he doesn't, not for sure. He can tell that Quatre's come to some conclusion, and he has some idea what kind of conclusion it might be if Quatre's so hastily allowing the subject to be changed.
(Some years later, Quatre will be a lot better at discreet conversational steering.)
He shrugs a little.
"The circus, of course. And I'm the main mechanic for our equipment, so I try to stay informed about developments there. Politics where I can, but there's a lot to keep track of."
And the physical sciences, but talking about that means keeping track of what was new in AC 190; and a whole lot of political developments that haven't happened for Quatre yet; and tactics and strategy and mobile suit piloting, but, well.
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He finds mining suits fascinating, and hydroponics, and basically everything.
(He is very, very interested in programming.)
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Every conversation can be a language lesson!
"Do they let you observe hands-on?"
Trowa has doubts about the usefulnees of any other method of learning this kind of thing. But his upbringing and early education was very, very different from Quatre's.
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"Not right away," he says, "but after a little while."
A bit defensive: "I learn really fast by watching, though."
(He doesn't think watching is as good as hands on, either, but it takes ages for anyone to trust him enough to actually work on things, it seems like.)
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"Bar can probably give you some parts to examine sometime, if you want. And there's a garage downstairs."
"Watching's useful too, though."
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The Bar could give interesting parts, but -- well, he doesn't know how to ask for things he's not already familiar with.
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"I've seen motorcycles, cars, trucks, and hovercraft. And some construction equipment."
And mobile suits.
"Some of it's pretty historic."
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"Are they a collection?" he says, interested but also somewhat dubious. Collections are heavy. And-- probably a collection owner wouldn't let him look at it.
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"I guess."
"No one seems to know whose they are, if so. But it's open for general use."
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Quatre is trying not to sound entirely enchanted about the idea, and pretty much failing.
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Trowa was IN NO WAY setting things up for this distraction from philosophical questions!
With another kid, he might be more hesitant to encourage wandering off into mysterious garages with strange adults. (Not that Trowa himself wouldn't have done that confidently at age ten, but he's aware that most people's childhoods feature more nurturing and less weaponry.) But he knows Quatre turns out all right.
He rises. There's an elevator across the bar over there.
"Want me to grab a toolkit?"
He knows the answer, of course.
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"If you'd like to," he says, which is stand-in for yes, please.
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(Also: Quatre at this age is really obvious when eager. And, in certain respects, predictable at any age.)
Accordingly, Trowa nods, and heads towards Bar. Basic toolkit coming up!
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"Thank you," he tells the Bar, glancing up briefly to Trowa to make sure that was appropriate.